Chaos Reign: The Fall of Freedom
by whiterabbit-object
Summary: Please excuse, this story is on hold until i finish my other one.
1. Prologue: Tides

PROLOGUE  
  
TIDES  
  
* * * * *  
  
"It is the force of Chaos that corrupts, but the hearts of Men that are corrupted."  
  
"The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."  
  
"What does not kill you can only make you stronger."  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was late in the fourth century, C.E, when the fall came. The tides of Chaos poured from the Northern Wastes, destroying all those in their path. Khorne, Nurgle, Slaanesh and Tzeentch all united to destroy the peace and prosperity brought by the Empire.  
  
An alliance of great proportions, Men, Elves, Dwarves and Lizardmen, stood fast in a last stand against the tide of evil. They were crushed mercilessly. Karl Franz, Emperor of the Old World, was dead. Men fled to the south and west, hiding in small colonies, trying to survive. The Elves left the Ulthuan and the Old World, through great rifts in space. Dwarves retreated to their mountain holds, or were corrupted by the evil gods of Chaos. The Lizardmen simply disappeared.  
  
The darker races, Skaven, Dark Elves and Orcs, held fast against Chaos. No one was sure why they did no join them, but several theories were put forward. The Dark Elves were not without a sense of honor, albeit a twisted and painful one. The Orcs had never heard of alliance, and the Skaven pulled back into their tunnels under the world.  
  
Several years later, the rumors of a power rising in the west spread quickly. Some said the dark times were over, but the skeptics shook their heads. Chaos had taken the whole continent by now, and the 'power' would have to totally vanquish them and repopulate the Old World.  
  
A new kind of magic, slow to rise, became known: the Lore of Emotion. It deals with human feelings, and is powerful enough to render an army useless in fear, or despair.  
  
Rumors of a man in the west, a powerful man armed with a sword of flame, spread through the lands of Chaos. Hope rises in the hearts of the Chaos Tide survivors. Spirits of men are lifted, and it is believed that the Elves have returned to the Old World.  
  
His name was Sigmar. He united humanity, and led them to war.  
  
He marched on Basul'dur, a major Chaos outpost. The victory was stunning. More humans joined His army, and soon half the Old World was under His control. The two sides warred for decades, sustaining great losses but gaining nothing. So Sigmar challenged the Chaos king to a duel. The results would determine the fate of the Old World.  
  
They met on the slopes of Mount Tar'çir, their entire armies at their backs. And it began.  
  
Legend tells that they dueled for two and a half years, but historians now think it was closer to three. The godlike Sigmar was the perfect match for Archaon, Lord of the End Times.  
  
Then, with His sword of flame, Sigmar cut the head of Archaon clean off, and victory was His. But a warrior fired an arrow at Sigmar, taking His life. The avatar (for now Mankind realized that he was the Avatar of their god) rose to meet his god on the wind, and under His banner charged Humanity in a desperate attempt to free the lands of Chaos.  
  
The battle was hard and fierce, but Man was beaten back again. He retreated to his mountain holds and his colonies in the Northern Wastes, and the rumors of the Elves dissipated like steam in a gale. But the determination of Man to free the Old World could not be destroyed so easily.  
  
And now, in the seventh century, rumors of Him are spreading. 


	2. Chapter 1: Suffering

CHAPTER 1  
  
SUFFERING  
  
* * * * *  
  
"What is life, if there is no love?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
We have suffered for so long. Centuries of misery, cowering before Chaos. The peace and prosperity brought by Karl Franz is now long forgotten, swept under the rug by the broom of change. And after Sigmar died, we nearly gave up. Heaven forbid! We have vowed never to give up, never to surrender. To fight to the death for what is right, and what is good. Not like the Elves.  
  
Bah!  
  
The Elves! Those cowards ran at the first sign of Chaos. They left us to an age of pain and fear, forgetting us. The Dwarves had the guts to stay, but they are gone now, as well. Consumed by Chaos or dead. Now the nations of Men are alone with Chaos.  
  
The Dark Elves have sent a pact to our leader. It was a great secret, but somehow the information leaked out. Now everyone knows.  
  
Huh? Oh, the pact was about an alliance of some sort. I tell you, I would have taken it, but Salazar is too wrapped up in pride to recognize a chance when it comes. A chance to restore the glory of the Empire.  
  
The Skaven . . . the Skaven hide in their tunnels, building contraptions and warring among the clans.  
  
The Orcs? Hmmm. No one really knows where they went. They sort of . . . disappeared off the Old World all together.  
  
Humans try to make a living, on the frozen soil up in the north or in the boiling marshes down south. We try, but hundreds die every year. We are dying out. Our numbers dwindle gradually, and our attempts at government only draw out the pain further.  
  
Up in the Northern Wastes, they're a tougher breed of Men. They'll be the ones to take the Old World back, if they get themselves together. But as yet, they're just warring tribes.  
  
Down south they reckon another Avatar will come to them. I dunno. Maybe, maybe not. It'd be good, but I'm not sure if we're ready. Out here in the west, we need to get the act together. I dunno if'n you noticed it, but every year it seems like there're less infants and more adults. Pretty soon we'll have to leave. The desert is too harsh for the babes, and for many of the adults. And we can't go back to the Old World, 'cos Chaos is there. I doubt we'd survive up north or down south. And eastward, past the Old World, is the Great Blue.  
  
This country's been in the hands of hundreds of kings, Emperors, warlords, tyrants and monsters. How many more do think we'll be able to stand? The Elves had control over the Old World once, too. After the War of the Beard. They had nearly killed all the dwarves in the Old World before they came to, and offered a truce.  
  
But Karl Franz, bless his name, held the Old World for a century of prosperity and peace. Then the Tide came from the Northern Wastes. And look where we are now.  
  
Maybe there's just no room for goodness on this planet. Humanity is sinking into the pre-stone age, and the Dark Elves continue the bitter struggle against Chaos. But they can't win.  
  
But some hope is better than no hope, I mean, what if a second Avatar has risen? Then maybe - maybe we could have another go?  
  
What I mean to say is, it's possible, isn't it? What with the Sierra Angel and all. 


	3. Chapter 2: Winter

CHAPTER 2  
  
WINTER  
  
* * * * *  
  
"And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all." - The Masque Of The Red Death  
  
* * * * *  
  
Winter has come to the West, and now the desert is like a pane of glass, what little moisture in the sand frozen, and the cold sun hardening the sand to rock.  
  
We must leave, and quickly, for a disease has come to us of terrible proportions. It spread westward from the Old World, and now the Plague has come to us. And we have no water, for it is frozen in the ground. Never has there been a winter this terrible, not in my lifetime.  
  
Cruel winds blow from the Northern Wastes, and our infants are dying. This winter has been horribly cruel, but one good thing has become of it. Because of the lack of children, all the tribes have joined to form a large group. Now we can hunt more productively, and some aspects of life have never been better. Previous wars and feuds that tore apart the tribes are forgotten. We have come together in peace, driven by the will to survive.  
  
The Plague has taken many of our numbers, but now we have the upper hand. Shamans have worked together to develop a cure, and gradually we are increasing in number. But the winter has yet to end.  
  
We now share a single, large cave. Many small fires burn, keeping us warm, and meat roasts over them, sending wonderful smells to my nose. I have not eaten in days. None of us have. But times have changed, and we give many thanks to Sigmar and the Sierra Angel for the blessing of food and health. Not even the oldest amongst us can recall a time when things were better after the Second Scattering. After the feast, the Tribal Elders and I will meet to discuss our destination. We know we have to leave. This land is no longer bountiful, and we must depart, in search of new lands.  
  
Many wish to go to the Northern Wastes, some to the south, and I wish to head further west, across the desert. No one else agrees with me. But I know that something lies in the Wastes. A power, dark, and terrible. The residue of Chaos. I do not wish to start a fight, but words are being said. I will leave on my own, if must. Salazar does not wish me to, but I will. The Northern Wastes are beckoning to me, and the dark power wishes me for itself. I dare not venture there for what may be done to me.  
  
A decision is made. The Tribal Elders will go the way they wish, taking their tribes with them. As for me, I will head west. Across the desert. Something calls to me. I can hear it in my head. Some of the other Elders say I am mad, but Salazar continues to have faith in me. Why, I do not know.  
  
The other tribes have left for the Northern Wastes, and Salazar has called me to his counsel. I say he should head west with me, but he fears for the tribe. I can fend for myself, and can provide for myself. But the tribe would starve. I finally tell them to head south. It is their best bet. North would take them too close to the power.  
  
I set out, across the desert of ice. My feet feel like leaden weights, but I trudge through the snow and use what magic I can in this mana-barren land to kill my food.  
  
The voice calls to me, a singsong voice that draws me to it. It says its land is full of the mana-tree, and the mana-fruit grows in abundance. That is what keeps me alive during the hard days of trekking, and then a tiring session of hunting. I get as much sleep as I can, but I know I cannot go on much longer. This land saps my strength but I must go on, I must reach that voice.  
  
I must. 


	4. Chapter 3: Magic

CHAPTER 3  
  
MAGIC  
  
* * * * *  
  
" . . . Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks!" - Gandalf, the Lord of the Rings  
  
* * * * *  
  
Something happened today. I was hunting, and launched a magic attack on a large animal. But a tingling filled my body, and nothing happened. I think I am out of mana. I killed the beast with my weapon, but it was tiring.  
  
Is this what being out of mana is like? I've never felt quite like this. It's almost scary. I feel . . . empty. Hungry, in a different kind of way.  
  
The voice calls to me, telling me to be strong. But I cannot. I am exhausted from the journey, and now I will have to hunt physically for my food.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I cannot take this much longer. My limbs are heavy, and I went hungry because I could not kill my dinner. But the voice calls, like a whale far out to sea, a distant song that allures and draws you. My arm is broken, I think. Would that I could fix it, but alas, without the mana-fruit I am very weak.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I received a good sign this morning. A bird, a hawk by the looks of it, circled overhead, wheeling slowly downward. It was the first sign of small animals since I left the tribe. Water must be close. I survived on melted ice from the sand, but fresh water would be heavenly.  
  
I . . . did something today. A bright light came from my fingertips, and the beast I was hunting fell to the ground. Not dead, but afraid. I have never heard of a fear spell before.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I am dying. I cannot move, my energy is spent. I can feel the life leaving me, and I grow weaker day by day.  
  
* * * * *  
  
This is my last entry. I have not reached the voice, but it is far stronger. I fear that Man will not survive another Scattering, and if this is right, then another Avatar would not be welcome. 


	5. Chapter 4: The Sierra Angel

CHAPTER 4  
  
THE SIERRA ANGEL  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Blessed is the man  
  
who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked  
  
or stand in the way of sinners  
  
or sit in the seat in the seat of mockers." - Psalm 1:1  
  
* * * * *  
  
Wake up Lelith.   
  
My eyes cracked open, then shut from the glare of white light that met them.  
  
You must wake up. A great evil holds the lands.   
  
I attempted to say 'chaos' but all that came out was a strangled groan.  
  
No. Something greater than Chaos will take the lands into a new evil, the likes of which have never been seen by mortal eyes.   
  
I inched my eyelids upwards, and before me I beheld the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The Sierra Angel stood before me, a radiant beauty in the frozen wastelands. She was cloaked in white, and her wings were also of a brilliant white, while her hair was jet black and her eyes blue. A glow surrounded her, and I took this to be the presence of Sigmar. She spoke again.  
  
You can go on to my lands, Lelith. You will not die while I give you my strength.   
  
I recognized her voice as the one that called me across the desert. From inside her cloak she drew a pendant. It was two finely intertwined silver chains, so fine and well crafted they looked like thread, and attached to it was a golden locket, about the size of my thumbnail.  
  
Let this locket light your journey.   
  
The pendant materialized around my neck. It was light, very light.  
  
I must go now. Goodbye, Lelith. Good fortune be with you.   
  
And then she was gone. A great strength filled my body, and I rose up, and proceeded on my journey.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Three days have passed since the Sierra Angel came to me, and I am nearing her land. I can feel it. My body is filled with a vigor and energy I had forgotten, and my magic is back to its full strength. The locket around my neck glows with white power, and it fills me with joy.  
  
I dare not open it though. To do that would be blasphemy of a most awful sort. This was a gift from an angel.  
  
I am camped in the shade of a ridge. I feel this is what separates me from the Far Western lands, and the Sierra Angel.  
  
A Beast stands upon it, guarding the pass. What must I do?  
  
* * * * *  
  
I approached the Beast carefully, my sword drawn and my magic ready. The Beast was as big as . . . as a pine tree. As tall as a pine tree, but as wide as the pass. Its scaled body glittered in the dim light of the evening, seeming to be all colours at once. I recognized the body to be that of a basilisk, a monster that can turn you to stone at a glance (A/N not a harry potter basilisk, K?). The Beast had three heads of different descriptions, joined to the body by long hairless necks. One, on my left, was a snake, fanged and hissing. Poison dripped from its fangs in great drops. The middle head was a lion, its mane a reddish brown. It roared playfully at me as I approached. The one on my far right was a human head.  
  
This head was scarred, gouges running along its cheeks and one eye missing, showing a dark hole. The head was bald. It was pierced in several places, rings hanging from its nose, eyebrows, lip, and ear. It was painted with purple clan markings, symbols on its forehead. In the middle of this was a third eye. I recognized this to be the third eye of Tzeentch, the Chaos god of Change.  
  
This Beast is a creation of Chaos.   
  
The voice rang clearly in my head. It told me I had to defeat it if I wished to see the Angel again.  
  
"How?"  
  
The Beast of Chaos cannot be killed, for it will leave the physical world and re-enter as something else.   
  
"Then what shall I do?"  
  
Fight it with the heart.   
  
I looked at my hand, at the symbol that had been there since I scared the animal in the desert. It was a four pointed star, black like a well, which sucked into my soul. I walked up to the beast and laid a hand on the snakehead. It writhed and lay still, awake but not dangerous. It blinked. Odd.  
  
I laid my hand on the lion head. It purred softly, and was still.  
  
But I could not touch the head of Tzeentch, no matter how hard I tried. My hand drew back whenever it got close.  
  
You must, Lelith.   
  
Pressing down all feelings of revulsion, I laid my hand on the third face. It shrieked, the unholy sound filling the air like a liquid, solidifying and making everything sluggish. I nearly threw up, but kept my hand on its face. And then, it too, was still.  
  
I looked at my hand, and saw the star was blood red. I walked past the beast, over the ridge, and into the Far West. 


	6. Chapter 5: The Far West

CHAPTER 5  
  
THE FAR WEST  
  
* * * * *  
  
"The LORD GOD took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it." - Genesis 2:15  
  
* * * * *  
  
As I proceeded down the ridge, my eyes tried to take in everything at once. From my vantage point, I could see that the Far West swept downward gently towards to Sea of Quiddity (A/N my tribute to Clive Barker) from the ridge upon which I stood. It was a beautiful rolling green, a welcome change to the unrelenting white of the desert. Down on the beach I could see docks and a huge city of spires and towers, a wonderful creation unlike any cities I had ever seen before.  
  
Farmland surrounded the cities all the way up to the ridge, and further outward on either side of the city, which stood on the beach directly in front of me, was a magnificent beach of white sand and pine forests closer to the ridge. All this appeared untouched by Chaos.  
  
In the city I could clearly see people walking through the wide thoroughfares and boulevards. Nothing was crowded, nothing was narrow, and there were no alleys and no slums. How could a place like this exist, when on the other side of the ridge, was death and pain?  
  
The sea sparkled sapphire blue, the grass emerald green, the sea foam a brilliant white. The colours here seemed intensified a thousand times.  
  
I began down the slope, walking amongst what appeared to be rows and rows of grapevines. A few hundred metres ahead I could see a quaint little farmhouse. Maybe they would allow me to stay the night, for I wouldn't reach the city today. The sun was falling, making a beautiful sunset. I got the feeling that all sunsets were beautiful here.  
  
For a second I saw, laid over the current view, a wasteland of rubble, fire and black skies, bodies lying and rotting in the muggy heat, but then the image disappeared, and I was left with the haven of the Far West.  
  
I needed to sit down, so I sat. Or rather fell. My legs felt weak all of a sudden. My eyelids grew heavy, so I closed them and lay back, my head resting on my pack. I quickly fell asleep.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I slept dreamlessly, and when I awoke, I found myself in a bed. I lay in ecstasy, for I had forgotten what it was like to sleep in a soft bed with clean linen and blankets. I was also aware that I was naked under the sheets. I sat up and looked around. No noise came to my ears. The bed was the main furnishing in the room. A window looked out onto the vineyard, so this was the farmhouse. A door of the same wood as the walls was opposite the bed. I had never seen such a wood before. A shelf was nailed to the walls, but it is empty. A desk stands near the bed, and upon it is my journal of this journey westward, an inkbottle and a quill. On the floor next to my bed is my pack, and some clean clothes.  
  
I got out of bed, feeling refreshed and energetic, not stiff or tired at all, as one might expect from such a long trip. Opening the window I found the air was warm, not hot or humid, but nicely warm, suggestive of an enchantment to prevent winter. As I have said, the window looked outward on the vineyard, but now I see it looks in the direction of the ridge. Above and beyond the ridge I can see dark clouds, but they are not moving to ward the Far West. In the blue sky of the West I see a few white clouds, small and fluffy. No sounds come from outside, either. The city must be the major place of business, I reason, because no one is around, and it's late in the morning. However, I do see a man working in a far off field, of rice I think. He toils hard, reaping and sowing.  
  
I put on the clothes, finding the style the same as my previous clothing. A black cloak over a dark blue shirt and sandy-brown travelling pants. I put my boots on, and retrieved my diary and pack, and took the ink.  
  
Opening the door, I found myself in a largish room, with big windows letting a view of the Far West in. This room was also empty. A long table stood in the middle, and a huge unlit candelabrum graced the center. An open door showed a small kitchen. The front door was open as well. Obviously, people trusted each other here far more than in the Old World.  
  
I walked onto the paved path that ran through the vineyards and then into the ricefields, then the orchards, and finally into the city. I walked slowly, taking in the sights. A bird chirped quietly, away in the pine forest. Sound travels very well out here, I thought. The grapevines on either side of me were bright green, a counterpoint to the dark purple grapes. Everything was the epitome of itself. The grapes were the pinnacles of grapes. The vines were the epitomes of vines.  
  
The sun moved steadily overhead as I walked on the paved path. As I walked into the ricefields, my vision was extended. I could now see the forests, my sight no longer obscured by the tall vines. The city was amazing in daylight. The buildings were sandstone, and tall spires and towers glittered with some metallic material in the sun.  
  
I continued on the paved path. 


	7. Chapter 6: The City Quiddity

CHAPTER 6  
  
THE CITY OF QUIDDITY  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Across the Sea of Quiddity lies a land strange and mysterious in its ways."  
  
* * * * *  
  
As I walked through the fields, the sun rose into the sky like a great balloon of light, and the paved path continued to wind in front of me.  
  
I passed through a field of rice, another vineyard, an orchard and then a plain of wheat. When I came to the wheat, I could see the gates of the city. They were tall, the same height as the walls, but made of iron, not sandstone.  
  
I approached the gate.  
  
"Hi! Gate-keep!" I called. "I demand entrance to the city!"  
  
The gate-keep, a man in his thirties looked out of short squat tower on the left hand side of the gate.  
  
"By what right do you demand entrance?"  
  
"By the right of the Sierra Angel!" I cried.  
  
"That is a powerful right indeed. Have you the evidence to back it?"  
  
At that I held out the locket given to me by the Sierra Angel. It shined with a brilliant light.  
  
He ducked into the tower for a moment, and the gates rumbled slowly open, grinding and grating old hinges. I walked forward into the shade of the wall. The gate-keep took the stairs from the tower two at a time, and ran toward me.  
  
"How did you come by that, wanderer? When you have the mark of the Ever- Entity on your hand?"  
  
I looked at my hand, and was shocked to see the four-pointed star had become a moth. I looked up, into the gate-keep's eyes. They were deep blue, and I caught a sense of . . . hate? detachment? fear ?  
  
"I think you'd better come with me."  
  
I followed him into the city, through the open and wonderful streets, gazing at the tall spires and towers of marble.  
  
At last we came before a magnificent one-story building. It was wide and long, with a half-cylinder glass roof. The gates were open, showing a long hall filled with knights, women and children and at the far end a huge dais with a throne of platinum next to one of silver. Upon the platinum throne sat a royal personage I guessed, but before I could see the gate-keep pulled me aside into the shadows.  
  
"My name is Cealt. I have to present you to the king. All wanderers must be. And with the moth symbol . . . who knows?"  
  
"Is it wrong?" I queried.  
  
"Not really . . . some might be . . . er . . . offended. Never mind now." He added hastily, and shoved me inside. 


	8. Chapter 7: The Thirteen

CHAPTER 7  
  
THE THIRTEEN  
  
* * * * *  
  
"And so it came to pass that the Thirteen each created a race, in their likeness: Men, Far Western Men, Elves, Dark Elves, Skaven, Lizardmen, Orcs, the four factions of Chaos, the Tomb Lords of Khemri and the Watchers in the Dark (of which there were only five)" - An Excerpt from The History of the Old World  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was as if I had yelled something rude and obscene. All conversation ceased, and all turned towards me. I opened my mouth to say something, but Cealt got in before me.  
  
"Your Majesty, this Wanderer has entered the city. She bears the mark of the Ever-Entity, yet she has the pendant of the Sierra Angel."  
  
The collective gasp was so loud, it nearly deafened me.  
  
"This is interesting news indeed," said the king. "Leave me to talk to this Wanderer." Everyone left quickly. The king beckoned me to his side. I found he was taller than me by a good three inches.  
  
"Where do you come from, ad what is your name, Wanderer?"  
  
"I come from the Great White Desert, and have traveled many leagues to reach here. My name is Lelith, Daughter of Lorieth."  
  
"How does it happen that your bear both the mark of the Ever-Entity, and the pendant of the Sierra Angel?"  
  
"It was given to me by the Angel herself. I know not the Ever-Entity you speak of."  
  
The king's face softened.  
  
"That is good news indeed. The Ever-Entity is both feared and hated by us."  
  
"I greatly desire to know what the Ever-Entity is, Highness."  
  
"Follow me."  
  
He led me through a door into a beautiful garden. A fountain murmured softly in the center. As we walked through the garden, an image came to me. It was the same place, but the walls encircling the garden were ruined, and bodies leaned against them. The fountain was smashed, and the flowers trampled. But it disappeared as quickly as the first.  
  
We came to a wall. Mounted on it was a mural cast out of gold. It depicted thirteen figures, twelve of which I recognized. Seven were very prominent. The four gods of Chaos, Sigmar, the Sierra Angel and one other. It was to this last one the king pointed. It was depicted as a man, albeit one in the likeness of a moth. It had wings, six legs and antennae, yet it stood on two legs, held a staff with two arms and had a human head.  
  
"We have many names for it: The Ever-Entity, The Nameless One, The Moth- Man. We have another though we dare not speak it."  
  
"Would you tell me?"  
  
"Indrid Cane."  
  
The sky overhead rumbled as if in response. 


End file.
